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"I don't wanna be the owner of your fantasy I just wanna be a part of your family"
December 24, 1965
I was helping Sodapop set the dining table for dinner as Mom was messing around in the kitchen. Dad and Darry went out to the shops to get a couple things before we ate, they’d be back soon.
The house was decorated with all things Christmas, our family may not have much, but us Curtises took Christmas seriously.
I was setting down the forks when the backdoor opened, which I thought was weird. Darry and Dad had a key to the front door, and we weren’t expecting anyone, so I had no clue who walked in.
I heard my mother’s voice from the kitchen, “Oh, hi, Johnathan, say, whatcha doin’ here?”
Soda and I exchanged glances and we both got close to the kitchen to eavesdrop on them. I would’ve felt bad, but Soda did it first.
Johnny squeaked, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Curtis, I shouldn'tve come here! I forgot what day it was. I’ll leave.”
“Nonsense, Johnny!” Mom stated firmly, “Now, I won’t ask again, what brings you here?”
“It’s nothing,” he replied, and though I couldn’t see either of them, I could imagine the scene so vividly. Johnny, with his hands shoved deep in his too-small jeans jacket, looking at the kitchen floor while Mom stared him down in her pink floral apron, her brow raised in skepticism. (Dad always said I had a big imagination)
“Oh, alright! It’s just my parents again, they’re fightin’ and I don’t wanna deal with ‘em right now,” his voice got quiet, and Soda and I had to lean real close to hear him. “I would’ve stayed at the lot if it wasn’t so cold.”
Mom sighed, and I could practically hear her frown, “Soda, Pony, get your asses from behind that door!”
Soda and I quickly entered the kitchen, looking sheepish. Both our ears were red as Mom stared us down.
“Ponyboy, here, take this,” she handed me an extra plate with a fork, spoon, and knife. “Soda, go look in the shed and see if we have any more chairs.”
Soda nodded, hurrying off, Mom sounded like she was on a mission, and nobody played with Mama when she was on one of her missions.
“Johnnycake, I don’t want you to worry about nothin’, Darry and the boys’ dad’ll be back from the store soon, you can stay with us for tonight.”
Johnny looked uncomfortable, “Aw, Mrs. Curtis, I couldn’t- I’ll be fine on my own. You already got four other mouths to feed-”
“-And I wouldn’t mind feedin’ one more,” she interrupted, “Now, c’mon, it’s far too cold for you to be out all by your lonesome, it’d make me feel better if I knew you were with us anyway.”
Johnny looked at me, and I could only shrug, “Oh, well, if it’s alright…”
“I assure you, dear, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” he bit his lip, “But if there’s anythin’ I could do to help.”
“You can help by gettin’ out of this kitchen,” she said playfully, but I could tell she was being kinda serious, “You too, Pony, I thought I told you to finish settin’ the table.”
My ears went red and I quickly exited the kitchen, with Johnny following me like a lost puppy.
“Your mom’s real nice, ya know,” he’d said after Soda and I finished setting up his spot at the table, Soda managed to find an old metal foldable chair we had, it was shorter than the rest of the chairs, and didn’t fit at all, but Johnny didn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I never really paid attention to my mom like that, sure, I loved her, but it was kinda her job to act like that. I guess I forgot it’s more unusual for a greaser’s parents to care about ‘em.
“Her chocolate cake is where it’s really at,” Soda said, flipping through the five or so channels we had on the tv.
I grinned, licking my lips at the mere mention of Mom’s cake. She was an amazing baker, and we loved anything chocolate, “Do ya know if she’s makin’ any tonight, Soda?”
He shrugged, “I sure hope so.”
It wasn’t long after when Dad and Darry got home, coincidentally bringing the ingredients for Mom’s chocolate cake.
“Hey, what’s Johnny doin’ here?” Dad asked after taking all of the groceries to the kitchen, I don’t think he’d noticed him before.
“He’s staying for dinner,” Mom called out, scolding Darry for something.
Dad frowned, heading back into the kitchen, and I could hear him tell Darry to leave so he could talk to Mom alone. Johnny looked nervous, staring at our old wood floors as if they were suddenly an expensive piece of art. I knew Johnny’s old man beat him at home, the whole gang did, it was no secret. I guess he was scared Dad was gonna kick him out, but I knew he wouldn’t.
“Oh, don’t worry, Johnnycake, Dad ain't gonna do anything to ya. He’s probably worried about somethin’ else,” I assured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at me with those big, chocolate brown, puppy eyes he gave everyone, and it was moments like this that always reminded me how small Johnny really was. He was older than me, but never looked like it.
“Coming here was a mistake, Pony, ‘m sorry,” he spoke quietly, no louder than a whisper.
Darry still heard him, “Let me guess, your folks again?” I’d forgotten he wasn’t there when Johnny arrived. He didn’t let Johnny answer, didn’t need him to, he already knew what he was gonna say, “Gee, Johnny, I ain't even know why you go back there no more.”
“Well because, what if they get worried ya know? I’d have to return eventually.”
Darry shook his head. Johnny’s parents didn’t give a dime’ worth of care for him, but he loved them all the same. It was kinda sad. He’d loved them the same way a puppy loved their owner, blindly and unconditionally.
“Now, c’mon, Johnny, you know they ain't care for you like that,” Soda replied, and Darry outright almost smacked him in the head.
“Sodapop ain't know what he’s sayin’, little buddy, don’ worry about it.”
“Boys! Come help us bring out the food!” Dad yelled, and we all jumped up from the couch to go help.
“Mm, this ham smells divine, Margaret,” Dad said as he started to slice the ham.
I stuck out my plate, and he placed a few slices on it, doing the same for everyone else. Johnny stared at his empty plate, looking lost.
Mom sighed, “C’mon, Johnny, you ain't want nothin’ to eat? I didn’t make all this ham for anythin’.”
He looked up, eyes big and wide, like always, “Uh, okay..” he stuck his plate out, and Dad gave him some ham. If he gave him a few more slices than anyone else, nobody said anything.
Johnny ate like the starved dog he was, cleaning his plate off relatively quickly. Soda grinned while Dad just chuckled, and asked if he wanted more.
After dinner we all ate a hefty amount of cake and watched Sodapop shake the few presents under the tree and try to guess what they were. His guesses were ridiculous, an obviously book-shaped item (a notebook) was a car, a light-weight box being a puppy, we all shared a great laugh.
“I-uh, best be goin’ now,” Johnny said while looking out the window. I didn’t know what he was trying to do. The snow that had been falling earlier had only grown, and it was sure to be freezing out.
“Nonsense, son, you’ll stay with us for tonight, won’tcha?” Dad asked, but something about his tone said that he wasn’t really asking.
Johnny’s face brightened a bit, his old man didn’t give a rat’s ass about him, so I was pretty confident in thinking that he’d never call him son before. “Are you sure? You all have already done so much. I don’t wanna intrude.”
“My golly, Johnny, am I gonna have to chain you to the floor? We want you to stay, honey.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I could..” he mumbled sheepishly.
Soda muttered something under his breath, “Not like your folks would mind it.”
Darry elbowed him in the stomach, “What my kid brother, Soda, means to say is that we’ll be happy to have you, Johnny.”
“Yeah!” I spoke up, “You can sleep with me, Johnny, my bed’s big enough.”
He gave me a small, thankful smile, and I felt good in that moment. It meant a lot for anyone in the gang to get Johnny to smile, usually Dally was almost always able to do it.
“I got this new book I wanted to show you,” I rambled on as he, Soda, and I got into changing into our night clothes. (I had to let Johnny borrow one of my shirts, which somehow looked bigger on him than it did me)
“Gee, Johnnycake, your folks ain't feed you?” Soda said it like a joke, but the room went quiet. (I love Soda’s reckless nature, but sometimes that boy can be too reckless)
Soda went to bed quickly after that, filling the room with his loud, obnoxious snores.
“I’m sorry ‘bout Soda, Johnny, he may look like a moviestar, but, oh boy, does he snore like a hog,” I whispered to him once we got into bed. My mattress wasn’t big, (I had grown since we’d first got it a year ago) so the two of us were squeezed together, Johnny spooning me since even though I’d grown, he was still slightly bigger than me, but I was almost there.
Johnny yawned, the noise tickling my ear, “It’s alright, Ponyboy,” he said softly, (Johnny was always soft when he talked) “It’s actually kinda soothing.”
I snorted, and turned over so then I was looking at his chest, and his grip on my waist tightened. Gee, Johnny was a good cuddler, “Soothing? How are Soda’s pig snores soothing, Johnnycake?”
“Well, my folks are almost always fightin’ at home,” I nodded, he didn’t need to include the almost , I thought. “So it’s nice to hear anythin’ other than yellin’, ya know?”
I yawned, looking up to face him in the dark, the only thing illuminating my room was the light coming from the moon outside, “Yeah, I guess I’d miss hearin’ him.”
He smiled and let out a yawn of his own, “G’night, Pony, ‘n merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Johnny,” I replied, watching him close his eyes.
The room went quiet for a bit.
“Johnny,” I whispered, he didn’t respond, but made a face that told me he was still awake, on the edge of falling asleep.
I poked his face and whisper-yelled, “Johnny!”
He hummed, “What, Ponyboy?”
I bit my lip, suddenly nervous for no reason, “Johnny, do ya think things’ll get better for us?”
Johnny opened his eyes, looking at me the same way I look at words I don’t know in books, “What’dya mean, Pony?”
“I just- well, things kinda suck right now, ya know?”
“Awh, don’t say that, Ponyboy-”
“It’s true! Just don’tcha wish your life was a little better?”
He looked at me, like really looked at me, “Yeah, but I’m sure things are gonna get better, Pony. Just you wait, kid,” and then, I don’t know if he was saying it to me or to himself, but he added, “They gotta.”
I stared at the words on the lined pages of the notebook Dad had gotten me that year, I hadn’t used it until today. My wrist hurt like hell, and I dropped the pen on my desk, trying to remember what else Johnny had said that night, but I just couldn’t. I think I fell asleep after that. You’re forgetting him , a voice in my head taunted. No I’m not , another snapped, and I quickly shut the book.
I’ll write more later, I told myself, (You haven’t forgot him, you haven’t. You can't)